


Magic and Mischief

by inquisitor_tohru



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Character Study, Developing Relationship, Dwarf Culture & Customs, Flirting, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Holding Hands, Libraries, M/M, Magic, The Fade
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:42:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26032066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inquisitor_tohru/pseuds/inquisitor_tohru
Summary: The Fade, Edric had decided fairly early on, was bullshit.
Relationships: Male Cadash/Dorian Pavus
Comments: 14
Kudos: 33
Collections: Black Emporium 2020





	Magic and Mischief

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sheeana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sheeana/gifts).



Edric Cadash hadn't even _dreamed_ before he was plunged into a nightmare. In the waking world he had his trusted spiked longbow, his explosives, and his throwing daggers, coated with oil. In the Fade he had...well, very little, save for the sickly green mark on his hand. His aim was always off, or rather, the usual laws of physics and logic didn't seem to apply here, so his arrows flew as if they had minds of their own. And when they did strike their targets they slipped through like mist, leaving even lesser demons unscathed. The Fade, Edric had decided fairly early on, was bullshit.

"Curious," Dorian said, with a smile. "I'd have thought you might ask Solas and not the, ah, moustache-twirling Vint." Edric couldn't hold back a chuckle as Dorian gave a demonstration with his perfectly silky moustache.

"What can I say? I happen to like moustaches." He rubbed the two-day-old stubble at his jaw. "Never been able to grow a good one myself, which is a tad unfortunate, for a dwarf."

"Oh, I don't know about that. It would be a shame to hide any part of that face." They both laughed at the groan rising up from the atrium with the scent of fresh paint. Somehow Solas managed to pack an awful lot into that one groan, such as 'in the library, really?' and 'get a room already' and 'needs more red'. Maybe it was a mage thing, or an elf thing.

"Really, Dorian - if you're not careful, you're going to make me blush." Dorian's silver eyes twinkled with mischief and magic.

"Is that a challenge?"

"If you like." He could just picture Solas' face as he listened, with that expression he made whenever he drank tea, as he painted that damned fresco. He'd been working on it when Edric had been sneaking around with Sera, too, and _next time_ they'd actually figure out a prank to pull instead of scuttling away like a couple of nugs.

He couldn't help but stare at Dorian's bare arm, glistening like Paragon's Luster in the dim candlelight, as he reached up to pluck a slim volume from the top shelf. Before he'd met Dorian, Edric hadn't fully appreciated how _heavy_ mages' staffs were. In fact, it had barely occurred to him, having become so accustomed to the loose, full-length robes favoured by the southern Circles. Even Vivienne's elegant outfits of silk brocade and dyed dragonling scales evoked the imagery he associated with the Circle mages. He'd been proud of the red hart leathers he'd crafted for himself (with a little arcane assistance from Dagna), but their appearance paled in comparison to Dorian's form-fitting, Tevinter-style clothing. Still, Edric's biceps were bigger. _Just._ Thank the Maker, or the Stone, or whoever wanted to take credit for creating the bow and arrow.

"Ah, yes. Our good friend, Brother Genitivi," said Edric, gingerly taking the copy of _Fade and Spirits Mysterious._ For once he was less concerned with his fingers brushing against Dorian's, and a good deal more concerned with making sure the book didn't disintegrate as soon as he touched it. Even surface dwarves tended to carve anything of great importance on stone tablets, while anything written on parchment was destined for the campfire. For all the time he spent in Skyhold's library, Edric still wasn't used to _books,_ and yet somehow he'd fallen for the biggest bookworm he'd ever met (unless he counted Cassandra and her smutty literature, at least).

"Not his greatest work," Dorian said, "but it may be helpful to read about the Fade from the perspective of another non-mage before I start babbling away about nullification enchantments and Veil-warps."

"I'm just going to smile and nod," Edric told him, and did just that. "I'll admit I was hoping for some more _practical_ demonstrations, but I'm willing to do my homework."

"How delightfully forward of you." Once again, Dorian's grin reached his eyes with a sparkling intensity. He wasn't normally given to poetics, but Edric could have drowned in those quicksilver eyes. He'd expected retching noises from below anytime now, but perhaps even someone as nosy - as _inquisitive,_ that was the word - as Solas had the good sense to just get on with his painting. Though, to be fair, Edric was rather looking forward to seeing his progress later on.

He didn't _mind_ Solas. It was just that really, Dorian _was_ the best person to help him with this. When they'd plummeted into that nightmarish future at Redcliffe Castle, Dorian had been more of an anchor than that _thing_ on his hand, even while his mentor lost himself in the time warp, and one of his closest friends was dying. He had every reason, every _excuse_ to be as hopeless and terrified as Edric, and if he had been, it hadn't shown. He'd trudged through the muck of the castle dungeons with determination, and shown remarkable patience when Edric asked what were, in hindsight, a lot of jumbled and unnecessary questions. And Dorian answered those questions with a straightforward coherence Edric had seldom encountered in the Inquisition or the Carta. It was for these reasons that he'd come to the conclusion that Dorian was the right person to ask.

Also (and this was _completely_ unrelated), Dorian was, in his own words, _exceedingly_ pretty.

 _Fade and Spirits Mysterious_ really was a slog and a half. It didn't help that the dreams he experienced during the night were still as alien to him as the sky was to a dwarf who'd lived their whole life in Orzammar. He understood dreams on a purely theoretical level. The Fade...less so. It was difficult to reconcile the twisted ugliness of its landscapes with the knowledge that it was shaped by the thoughts of visiting dreamers. Its very nature was slippery, with its ephemeral geography and landmarks eluding his grasp. Only the so-called _Black City_ was constant, and on the rare occasions Edric was able to move through the Fade at will, he never did reach its gates.

"Sometimes it seems like it's actually getting further away," he told Dorian the next time he was in the library.

"Ah, yes. It _does_ like to do that. The Fade has a habit of muddying the waters of perception at the best of times, and the Black City is off-limits to even the most seasoned mage." He gestured towards himself with a smirk. Today's outfit consisted of dazzling whites and muted golds in open mockery of the Venatori. And buckles - lots and lots of buckles.

"Not Corypheus," Edric said, a little sorry to spoil the mood.

"Yes, well. I dread to think the price he paid to _get_ there, and we've seen the cost of his going there."

"Blood magic?" he ventured, remembering his reading. "It thins the Veil."

"Good boy, you _have_ been doing your homework." The joviality, unfortunately, did not last long. "Blood magic, yes. And an awful _lot_ of it. I'd wager those magisters stepped over thousands of their dead to enter the Fade." For a few moments, Dorian's lips formed an uncharacteristically straight line, as Edric had noticed a few times when they spoke of Corypheus and his cultists, as if they were an unspeakable stain on the homeland he loved so much. Tevinter was by no means innocent, even discounting the Venatori, but far be it from a former Carta rogue to judge an entire country.

"Still," Dorian continued, a little brighter, "it's unusual that you're able to maintain your autonomy while you dream."

"Not always. A lot of the time I feel like I'm just flailing around," he admitted, chuckling. "Not so different from the rest of the time after all, I suppose."

"You're too hard on yourself," Dorian said gently. "I have never once seen you _flail."_ Edric was fairly sure he'd flailed at Redcliffe, both literally and figuratively, but he appreciated the sentiment all the same. Magic had terrified him. The Fade _still_ terrified him. And leadership probably terrified him most of all, except for spiders - he pushed that thought away before it made his skin crawl.

"Thank you...though I suspect I'm at risk of flailing a lot around you." This time he didn't bother finding any sort of pretext or excuse to brush his calloused fingers over Dorian's. He just reached out and clasped both of Dorian's hands, admiring the pretty blush that crept across his high cheekbones.

"I...look forward to it. Depending on context, of course." He gave Edric's hands a soft squeeze, and lowered his voice. "So, anyway, what's this I hear about you and Sera pulling pranks and _not_ inviting me?" Edric snickered, wondering exactly how much Cole had let on - at least, he assumed it was Cole.

"I mean, you're not _not_ invited."

"Clearly. Sera told me the very same thing last night in the Herald's Rest. It's just as well really, because I have some frankly _brilliant_ ideas, if you think you can handle them." He winked, and Edric flashed him a cocky grin.

"Oh, I can _more_ than handle them." Dorian laughed, almost tumbling into him, which Edric was not going to complain about. Even as he felt red blooming in his freckled cheeks.

"In your _dreams_ , Edric," Dorian murmured, lips pressed to his forehead, "in your dreams."


End file.
